


I know

by madmadge



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 00:43:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17213915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madmadge/pseuds/madmadge
Summary: Crowley drives back from Tadfield, Aziraphale sleeps, and there's some time to think about... stuff





	I know

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I'm always excited about feedback, and this is the first thing I put here, so if I need to change something about the tags or anything, let me know  
> 2) English is not my first language  
> 3) this work has only been beta-read by someone who has zero idea about both Good omens and grammar  
> 4) still, I firmly believe some of y'all will think this is satisfactory  
> 5) I'm told I'm not very good at promoting my work. But then again, honesty is way underrated

Crowley’s hand trailed absentmindedly to the gear shift and winced back. The jeep was automatic. Basically everything about it was wrong. The driver’s seat was on the opposite side, there was no gear shift. And the music coming from the blaupunkt wasn’t cursed with Queen.

That, to be honest, wasn’t too bad. Indeed, the world was a strange place even without every tape metamorphosing to _Another one bites the dust_ or _We are the champions_ , which -and he could feel a sour smirk stretching on his lips at the thought- would put a somewhat bizarre cherry on top of the cake of irony they’d have just lived through.

And survived.

Crowley hasn’t stopped marvelling on that fact yet.

Survived.

Well, it was quite certain hell would eventually come after him. Once the armies regrouped and someone managed to point him out as the sole cause of their spectacular failure.

Still, for the time being, it was an automatic jeep, Handel’s water music, a grumpy retired witchfinder and a somewhat bewildered elderly lady occupying the backseat, and a snoring angel on the demon’s right.

Crowley glanced over at his partner-in-thwart, and the smirk softened into a smile. Aziraphale had been out of it almost as soon as he (with care and air of importance) fastened his seatbelt and Crowley started the motor.

Aziraphale slept very rarely, if at all. He’d sometimes close his eyes for several minutes after he’d finished an exceptionally long book, but Crowley suspected he wasn’t as much dozing off as repairing his eyes, dried out after hours sitting motionlessly and barely blinking.

(Crowley had once out of boredom watched the angel read and only blinked when the bookworm did. Even though he’d never had to blink as often as humans, he’d found himself very uncomfortable after some hour or so and gave up)

This time, Aziraphale was leaning on the window of the car, sagging in the seat, mouth opened slightly, an occasional snore rumbling in his throat. Turns out the Armageddon takes its toll even on the ever-vigilant Virtue.

Crowley wished he had some means of documenting the moment, but concluded that focusing on keeping his clothes and sunglasses in existence was about the extent of energy he had left and conjuring a camera would be excessive.

“’tis the place, laddy” Shadwell croaked from the backseat and fixed his demon-expelling finger on a row of buildings.

Crowley pulled up on the sidewalk and let the witchfinder and madam Tracy out. The angel didn’t as much as stir.

“Thank you for the lift.” Madame Tracy patted the demon’s hand. “And make sure to take care of the poor dear. Come, love, I still should have some brussels sprouts for supper.” The last part was meant for Shadwell, who seemed rather bewildered with the whole affair.

Crowley replied something along the lines of “Ciao”, and got back in the car.

“Take care of the poor dear my ass” he hissed under his breath and wanted to add something, but the angel murmured something in his sleep and he lost track of thoughts. Instead, he started the jeep and drove slowly through London.

He drove slowly, and even according to the maximum speed signs. In fact, for four solid minutes he drove so slow he made a great deal of other drivers considerably irritated.

There was still a lot he still hadn’t managed to process;

First of all, an eleven-year-old pretty much just vetoed Armageddon.

Aziraphale had been discorporated and recorporated.

 He -Crowley- had killed one duke of hell and imprisoned another.

Hell was not going to let this go.

He had physically attempted to fight Satan.

Side by side with an angel.

The Bentley was gone.

The bookshop was gone.

There was a patch of black sludge poisoned with holy water in his apartment.

 

Crowley purposely missed the turn to Soho and continued driving, on the orbital and possibly even further into the countryside.

At some point, Handel’s water music ran out and radio took over. Once he realised, Crowley spent a few moments listening intently to the weather forecast in fear hell might cut in, but the forecast finished undisturbed and faded into a song, which played also undisturbed, and Crowley managed to relax his cramped shoulders.

He glanced over to the ethereal being drooling in peace on the passenger seat. Afternoon sun glistened in the blond curls almost like a halo and his face, so used to being constricted in concern of this or other sort, was as smooth as cherub’s, right down to the round cheeks.

“Ran to a burning bookshop for you, you know” Crowley said absentmindedly “Ruined a good suit”

Aziraphale, still sleeping, had nothing to say to that.

Crowley found the silence almost encouraging.

“And took on the devil because you asked” Well, not technically, but it’s the intention that counts, isn’t it…?

Crowley sighed. He was glad the world was going to carry on, and infinitely grateful he was there to continue with it. And that the lazy, sweet-toothed, book-loving, tartan-obsessed angel was there to continue with him. At least he hoped. After all, it wouldn’t make much sense to part ways now, would it? He’d grown accustomed to their dinner dates, walks in the parks and evenings in the theatre. Stopping now would be… lonely.

Crowley remembered only a few days ago when he dropped Aziraphale off at the bookshop after they’d returned from the hospital-turned-management-training-centre and how the angel had shut the door. And how he, Crowley, a demon, was left staring at the shut door, very scared and very, very much alone.

And not a word from Aziraphale until when Hastur and Ligur were sent to pay him a visit and then the burning shop, and then the Bentley spontaneously combusting on the M25, and all the other stuff that just kept happening very threateningly and very fast.

And then, at some point, Aziraphale held out his hand and as his words still rang in Crowley’s ears: _I’ll have known, deep down inside, that there was a spark of goodness in you_.

And the demon found himself taking the angels hand, _I’ll have known, deep down inside, you were just enough of a bastard to be worth liking._

He wondered if he’d kept holding onto the offered hand infinitely if Shadwell hadn’t pushed them aside.

He glanced over at Aziraphale, who was still quite content with being dead to the world, and his open palm lay relaxed on his leg.

Crowley’s hand moved on its own accord, and he only realised what he had intended to do in the last moment, changing the movement to grasp the automatic gearshift, which was a rather pathetic save, but considering the only other being that could possibly witness it was currently asleep, worked just fine.

Except for the blush creeping unapologetically on Crowley’s cheeks.

“Oh for Go..Sat…somebody’s sake” he hissed, shaking his head as if to clear it of inconvenient thoughts. It didn’t work.

He sighed. Maybe it wasn’t all that bad. Or rather, it wasn’t as though there was anything that could potentially worsen the situation he was already in.

It was a good thing, really.

Obvious, really.

He chuckled, involuntarily, at the next thought:

_ineffable_

_Well, I guess this is just how it is, now._ Crowley concluded with a feeling that smelled suspiciously of contentment.

Aziraphale snorted, coughed, stretched and yawned, wiping the drool off his face.

“You know, for an _ethereal_ being you’re rather disgusting” Crowley jabbed half-heartedly.

The angel was turning his head in attempt to relax the stiffened neck.

“I fell asleep?”

“Noticed. You also snore, by the way.”

“Angels don’t…”

“I _knew_ I should have recorded it”

Aziraphale ignored him and looked around. London was far behind them and the surroundings turned into a picturesque patchwork of fields and groves.

“Are we still in Tadfield?” the angel asked, puzzled.

“Nope, I… why would we still be in Tadfield?”

“Well we’re obviously not in London, and I sense this familiar…” he looked directly at Crowley, who was occupied with pretending to mind the road “feeling of…love” he concluded, apologetically, the unsaid _“I know you don’t know what I’m talking about”_ hanging heavily in the air.

Crowley cringed.

“about _that_ …” the demon began carefully “that… love thing you thought I couldn’t understand.” He specified, eyes fixed on the road for once, fingers drumming nervously on the wheel, attempting, and failing miserably at conjuring a smug grin on his face

“I have something to say about that.” He managed to say finally, and it didn’t sound at all like the triumphant tone he had hoped for. In fact, his throat was constricted and he was almost choking on every word.

Aziraphale looked at him with a searching gaze, wondering what Crowley was talking about.

Then Aziraphale smiled.

“Dear boy, you don’t have to say anything.”

Crowley turned his head abruptly, feeling colour rising in his face in a blush.

Aziraphale was positively beaming.

“I know” he said, somehow pouring the warmth of his smile into the words “I know.” He repeated.

**Author's Note:**

> would anyone be interested in a podfic?


End file.
